Love is Strange
by GreenEyedLiz
Summary: This is a collection of stories about Sherlock and Molly. Some are long, some are short, and you never know exactly what's going to pop up next. I hope you enjoy them!
1. Merry Christmas, Molly

_Note from the author: Hello! The prompt was: Molly has a secret addiction. One day Sherlock finds her out. It was given to me by someone on Tumblr. I thought about this prompt for a while, and yesterday I went to a concert and heard a song that helped me decide what her addiction would be. I'd never heard that song before, but it inspired me when the singer sang it at the concert. I hope you like it. _

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"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always…" Molly Hooper muttered as she tried to hold herself together. Somehow he had managed to humiliate her in front everyone she knew again. She did her best not to look at him, it would only take one good look to cause her tears to fall and she told herself that she had to maintain some amount of dignity for the rest of the party.

Sherlock Holmes' face changed from judgmental to embarrassed in a matter of seconds after reading the label on the present. At first, he was not sure what to do next. He knew what he had done was wrong, but how could he possibly make it better?

"I am sorry. Forgive me." Sherlock said quickly, hoping it would fix what he had done, but her expression did not change.

She still refused to look at him, so he stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. It was something that he only did for Mrs. Hudson, but he figured Molly would appreciate it. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

Then his phone went off, and the pathologist's face turned as red as the wrapping paper on Sherlock's gift.

"Ah! No, that wasn't- I- I didn't…" She panicked, but Sherlock cut off her stuttering, "It was me."

Everyone was confused.

"My phone." He corrected before spinning around and wandering off to look into it.

It was quick, but when he returned Molly was gone. She left the gifts for everyone and even forgot her coat, so she was obviously in a hurry to get out of the flat.

He expected John to approach him and give him a piece of his mind, but it was actually Lestrade who came to chew him out.

"You know, you've been a real arse tonight." He remarked casually before taking a sip of his drink.

The consulting detective barely acknowledged his friend's comment, he had heard it at least a million times before, but Greg went on, "She has hard time around Christmas. Now, it's not my place to say, but I'm a bit worried about her tonight, actually."

Sherlock finally glanced in his direction, "Why should you be worried?" His brow arched curiously, and Lestrade simply shrugged, "Like I said, not really my place to say. I'd go to her place tonight myself, but I've got plans after this."

"And you are suggesting that I return her coat thereby checking on her for some reason you won't tell me about? Why would I do that?" Sherlock questioned with an annoyed tone in his voice.

Lestrade shrugged once more, taking another drink, "It's the proper thing to do, and because your curious now." He placed his glass on the table and waved to John and Mrs. Hudson, "Goodnight everyone. I must be going."

Originally, Sherlock planned to stay home and ignore the things his friend had said to him, but after everyone else had left, he found himself pacing the floor. "Why should people be concerned for Molly tonight?" He thought aloud. John, who was cleaning up after the party, said that he didn't know and before he could ask why Sherlock bolted for the door.

"I'm going out." He announced, picking up Molly's coat on his way through the door.

John was utterly confused, but even he could not control where that man went.

Sherlock caught a cab, gave the cabbie Molly's address, and then spent the whole ride trying to remember everything he knew about Molly Hooper the pathologist.

She obviously had some kind of crush on him. He knew she liked cats, she even owned one named Toby. He also knew that she was an excellent pathologist, the only one he would work with. Her sense of humor was a bit darker than of that normal person, but she found herself rather funny. Other than that small bit of information, he slowly came to the realization that he did not have very much data on her in his palace.

"We're here, sir." The cabbie grumbled, he had said it many times before.

Sherlock's eyes opened, he tossed money towards the man in the front seat, and slipped out of the cab without another word.

He walked into the building and easily found her flat.

It took a moment to convince himself to knock on the door. Am I actually doing this? He thought to himself.

Molly's voice called out something from inside the flat, and soon she swung the door open.

She was no longer wearing the dress from earlier, and she looked like herself again; those ridiculous earrings were gone as well. Her hair was pulled up as usual and she had taken off her makeup, it was a good thing she had too, because her cheeks were stained with tears.

"Oh," she slurred, "it's you."

He glanced past her, into the flat and saw a nearly empty bottle.

"You forgot your coat." His hand held the coat out to her.

Molly's lips formed a crooked little smile as she took the coat from him then turned around to put it in her closet. On her way across the room, she stumbled and almost fell onto the floor.

Luckily, Sherlock was able to catch her before she hit the ground.

"I'll take that." He stated, taking the coat from her hand. The consulting detective hung it up in the closet and then returned to her side to lead her towards the couch.

She tried to swat his hand away as he guided her, but he was too stubborn and refused to let go.

As she sat down on the couch her hand grabbed the bottle on the coffee table so that she could pour herself another drink.

At first, he had believed that her eyes looked glassy and bloodshot because she had been crying, but now he knew that was not the case. It was obvious that she was very drunk.

Sherlock watched her silently, but when she went to pour another, he took the bottle away. "You shouldn't drink, Molly. It doesn't suit you."

"Then what does suit me Sherlock?" She snapped and stood up, a fresh wave of tears come over her. "I give you lab access, I do everything you ask, I help you when I can, and I put up with everything you say to me. What suits me, Sherlock? Is it when I do my hair a specific way or when I allow you to look over my bodies? Oh no, I didn't mean it like that." She stammered, covering her face with her hands.

Sherlock said nothing. He was not sure what to say, but as his eyes roamed around the flat, he found the information that had been missing from his palace.

There was a very good reason to be worried about Molly Hooper.

"How long?"

"How long what?" She inquired quietly.

"How long have you been an alcoholic, Molly? I know the signs when I see them." He would have started naming them off, but that would only make things worse.

Sherlock could not wrap his mind around this.

"Do you know something?" Molly asked hysterically.

It was a rhetorical question, but she paused as if waiting for his response.

"Six years. Six years I've been sober." Her voice broke, and she had to stop to compose herself again, "Until tonight."

She covered her mouth with her hand as a sob threatened to ripped through her.

"Because of what I said." Sherlock added, his eyes widened in shock.

"Why did you have to say those things?"

Her anger had returned and she jabbed her finger into his chest, causing him to back up.

"We all know you're brilliant, and I know that you don't give a damn about me, but why?"

Now he was backed up against the wall.

Her little hands desperately grabbed onto his coat, "Can't you see I'd do anything for you?" She whispered brokenly.

Sherlock's chest tightened at the scene before him, his lovely little pathologist reduced to this.

All of this was his fault. He broke Molly and all of the strength she had built up over the years.

"I'm sorry, Molly." He said for the second time that night, this time he truly meant it with all his heart, before cautiously wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace.

Molly clung to him despite all the angry screaming she had done only moments ago.

"Did you like your present?" She asked weakly, her voice slightly muffled by his coat.

"Yes." He murmured into her hair, "Thank you for the pocket watch."

Molly smiled softly, "It was my father's."

He stayed with her for the rest of that night because she could not be alone. He learned that Christmas was a hard time because her family lived so far away from London and she got terribly lonely during the holiday.

Sherlock also learned other things about Molly like her favorite colors and what music she enjoyed.

He made room for this information and stocked his mind palace with new things about her.

Everyone her cared about got a decent room, and he decided that she deserved something bigger and better than the closet she had originally claimed.

Weeks later Sherlock and John showed up at Bart's.

Molly had herself under control again, and was even happy to see the pair come for a visit.

"I need to see the man they brought in yesterday." Sherlock said, his eyes glued on his phone.

Molly nodded and scurried off to retrieve the body.

As she was returning John suddenly glanced towards his wrist, "Dammit. I forgot my watch. Anyone got the time?" He glanced around the room for a clock, but he stopped his search when Sherlock pulled something from his pocket.

"It's 1:45." He announced before slipping it back into his pocket.

John's brows furrowed for a moment, and he pointed towards his friend's pocket, "Since when do you carry a pocket watch?"

"It was a gift." Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

He saw Molly smile from across the room, and he could not prevent the small grin that spread across his face.

John was still lost, "Did I miss something?"

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_Thanks for reading. It means a lot to me. xoxox_


	2. Roses

_Note from the author: The prompt: Roses. (one word prompt). It was also given to me by someone from Tumblr. This one is not very long, but I think it is cute and sweet. Sorry for the length, but I hope you enjoy it. :)_

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The suicide of the fake genius Sherlock Holmes was all over the news for a few weeks, but after that the world quickly forgot him.

He had simply been another man desperate for fame and glory, and he was no smarter than the next detective was.

The people who had once praised him now lived as if they were completely oblivious to the fact he had existed.

Only his friends and family seemed to miss him.

There was a small graveside service held where a casket was lowered into the ground and kind words were spoken.

Members of the Holmes family attended as well Mrs. Hudson, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, and Molly Hooper, but that was weeks ago.

Now everyone was off on their own again, struggling to cope with everyday life.

One day after work Molly found herself at the consulting detective's grave. It was strange being there, knowing all the secrets she did. It made everything feel very real.

She stayed there for a while, and just as she was about to leave another visitor ran up.

He was a young boy; Molly thought he could not be older than twelve.

"Excuse me." He muttered before pushing past her.

"Sorry." Molly replied with a bit of confusion in her voice. She had never seen him before, and assumed he was going to see someone else, but then he stopped in front of Sherlock's headstone.

How did he know Sherlock?

The boy shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and placed it on the ground so he could easily go through its contents. The item he was searching for was careful placed at the top of the pack so it would not be squished during the trip here.

It was a small bouquet of roses.

He removed the beautiful red flowers and placed them against the smooth, black stone.

Curiosity finally got the best of Molly and she returned to the grave, "How did you know Sherlock Holmes?" She asked with a friendly smile.

He glanced back to look at her, "Oh, no ma'am, I didn't." His sad gaze returned to the stone in front of him, "He was my hero. You know, I don't believe any of those things the papers said. He was the real deal. When I grow up I'm going to be like him, I hope. I'm going to help people too."

Tears formed in Molly's eyes as she listened to the little boy talk about her friend.

"The flowers are lovely, I'm sure he would have appreciated them." She remarked before taking a seat on the ground beside him.

"I hope so," the boy beamed with pride, "I saved my money for a whole week to buy them for him."

Molly smiled, "What's your name?"

He looked at her once again and wiped a tear from his cheek, "My name is Tony."

"Thank you, Tony."

His brows furrowed in confusion, "For what?"

Molly stood up again, the boy probably wanted some alone time with his hero.

"For believing in Sherlock Holmes, of course."

That was the last thing she said to him before returning to her flat where the not-so-dead consulting detective was waiting for her.

She hoped the story of Tony, a boy who still cared, could encourage him or at least make him smile.

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_Thank you for reading! :) xoxox_


	3. Always The Last to Know

_Note from author: The prompt: Sherlock and Molly are married and having a baby. Sherlock is incredibly protective of Molly and doesn't let her do anything because he is afraid that something will happen to her or the baby. OOC is okay. :) I got this from another Tumblr user (mylovelymindpalace). Thank you for giving it to me! I don't think this is what exactly you were expecting (Sorry, but the prompt is still in there! Yay! ;D), but this is what came to me. This is a__nother short one, but I think you will like it, at least I hope you will. :) _

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"Sherlock, dear, I have something to tell you!" Molly called out excitedly as she scurried into the bedroom.

Her husband was standing beside the wardrobe, trying to fix his tie. He never wore ties, but they were going to an important dinner and he wanted to please Molly.

"Sherlock," She addressed him again, waiting for him to give her his attention.

Finally, he glanced her way with a slightly irritated smile.

"What's wrong?" Molly asked, being sidetracked by his irritation.

"I can't tie the bloody thing." His hand motioned towards the tie hanging from his neck.

She sighed, "Well, don't bother with it right now, I have to tell you something important."

Her face was glowing as she stepped towards him so she could take his hands into hers.

"Sherlock, I'm pregnant." She squealed excitedly, and waited to see her husband's response.

"Yes, yes! It's wonderful." He replied and hugged her tightly.

For a man who was going to be a father he did not seem very excited.

A frown formed on her lips immediately, "Aren't you excited?"

Sherlock pulled back and nodded quickly, "Of course I am, darling. It's just that, I'm afraid I- I mean…" He stumbled over his words as he tried to explain himself to his wife.

Her eyes widened when she understood what he was trying to say. "You knew!" She gasped, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"Well, yes."

Her eyes narrowed and she hit him on the shoulder, "Why didn't you tell me?" Molly was absolutely furious.

"I didn't want to ruin the surprise for you!" He replied defensively.

"How did you even know? I'm not even showing yet." She hit at his arm again.

"Not to the untrained eye, no."

"Your eyes aren't trained, Sherlock Holmes! You are not a doctor!" Molly shouted before taking a step back and running her fingers back through her hair.

"This is why you've been doing all those lovely things for me, isn't it? You've held the door open, done experiments somewhere else, carried boxes, and all sorts of things!"

"I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby. Chemicals are definitely not good for the development, and I don't want you to strain yourself." He explained.

Molly groaned and leaned her head against the doorframe

"And about the training of my eyes, I'll have you know that John didn't even notice until I informed him!" He ripped the tie from his neck and tossed it across the room then crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Molly's face turned bright red, but not with embarrassment.

"John knows?" She hissed. "Who else have you told, Sherlock?"

Sherlock diverted his eyes and tried to change the subject, "We really must be going. We don't want to be late for the dinner party."

She approached him again, restating her question, "Who else knows?"

"I'd assume John told Mary who told Mrs. Hudson who told Mycroft who told Mummy. I believe John also informed Lestrade who then told the rest of Scotland Yard. John really is quite the gossip. Oh, and I believe some woman at Bart's is already planning a shower." He did not look her in the eyes the entire time he spent listing off names.

Molly's hands covered her face as she tried to calm down. What good would it do to be angry? What's done is done.

"At least I can tell my mother." She breathed and moved towards the phone.

This time Sherlock released a sigh, "Actually…"

"I am the last one to know about my own baby!" She laughed hysterically. "Of course, of course. How could I expect to surprise you?"

Sherlock cautiously walked over, he did not want to be hit again, and wrapped his arms around his wife.

"I am sorry, Molly, but the important thing is that we are going to be parents." He kissed her forehead, trying to make her smile.

Slowly Molly's lips stretched into a small smile, "This baby is being born into madness, complete madness! Come on, I'll tie your tie."

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_Thank you for reading. xoxox_


	4. Pirates, Fairies, and Peter Pan

_Note from author: The prompt: Windows. This prompt was given to me by the lovely Michelle (theheartofascientist). It's just a little bit of Kid!lock. I wrote it while my power was out for three hours (bad weather, ick.). I hope you like it. WARNING: Fluff._

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"Mummy, could you tell me a story?" Six-year-old Molly Hooper asked sheepishly before her mother closed her bedroom door.

A smile settled on Mrs. Hooper's face as she nodded and returned to the foot of her daughter's bed. "Alright, what story would you like to hear this time?"

The little girl shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know." She replied simply.

Mrs. Hooper had to think for a moment before a story finally came to her. "Would you like to hear one of my favorite stories, Molly?"

"What's it about?" She inquired eagerly.

"It's about a little boy who never wants to grow up. His name is Peter Pan." Her mother explained.

Molly's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, please."

Mrs. Hooper proceeded to tell her the story of an adventurous boy who could fly between worlds.

"How does he fly?" The littler Hooper asked, her eyes wide with awe.

"Well, you see, Peter has a friend named Tinkerbell. She is a fairy, and she has magical pixie dust that allows people to fly!"

"Wow." Molly gasped.

Next, she learned about his home.

"Neverland isn't a place here on Earth." Mrs. Hooper explained as she motioned towards the sky outside Molly's window. "It is the second star to the right."

Her daughter looked out the window, following her mother's hand motions.

"What is it like there?" Molly asked curiously.

"Oh, it's lovely. There are lagoons where mermaids swim, beautiful forests filled with hundreds of adventures, and oceans that stretch as far as the eye can see. That's where Captain Hook and his crew sail on their pirate ship." Her mother explained enthusiastically.

Molly was amazed.

"Is Peter Pan a pirate, Mummy?"

"No, no, he and Captain Hook do not get along at all."

Mrs. Hooper went on to tell the tale of how the good Captain lost his hand, and how he wanted nothing more than revenge on Peter Pan. Afterwards, she talked about the Lost Boys, John, Michael, and Wendy.

A frown formed on little Molly's face as the story came to an end. "Didn't they like it in Neverland with Peter?" She wondered aloud.

"Of course they did, but the Darlings realized that they missed their family back here in London, so they decided to go home."

"Oh." Molly yawned, finally showing signs of being tired.

"That's enough for you tonight." Mrs. Hooper smiled and placed a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Goodnight, my dear. Sweet dreams." She tucked Molly in again, turned off the lights, and left the bedroom.

Molly closed her eyes tightly, hoping to dream about Peter Pan coming to her window and taking her away to Neverland.

Sleep was about to overtake her when she suddenly heard something at her window. She did not waste a second. Her eyes shot open and she ran to the window.

Her room was on the second floor of the house so it could only be one person. It had to be Peter Pan.

It took her a moment to figure out how to open the window, but she was able to do it quickly.

"Careful!" A boy's voice snapped from outside.

"Peter Pan is that you?" She asked excitedly as she looked around for the source of the voice.

All of the sudden a curly haired boy's head popped into view.

He had bright blue eyes and looked absolutely nothing like her mother said he did.

His brows pulled together in confusion. "No. Peter Pan is not real. He is fictional." The boy stated matter-of-factly while trying to get a better grip on the windowsill.

Molly frowned. "Then who are you?" She demanded although it sounded more nervous than anything, "Why are you climbing up the side of my house?"

He tipped his head to her before introducing himself, "Captain Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if the answer to her second question was obvious. "I wanted to see how long it would take compared to climbing up mine." He tossed his head back, motioning towards the house next door.

Molly's eyes glanced over him, well, what she could see of him, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "So you're a pirate?"

It was very lucky that her mother had told her about these things earlier tonight, she thought.

Captain Holmes nodded.

"You don't look like a pirate."

"I dropped my hate while I was climbing." He retorted immediately in an attempt to defend his pirate-ness.

"Oh." She squeaked.

"Well, my mother says that pirates are rugged and brutish. Are you rugged and brutish?"

Sherlock frowned, "I am not that kind of pirate."

"What kind of pirate are you, then?" Molly inquired.

At some point, she had leaned towards him, but she only noticed this now which caused her face to turn bright red.

He noted her strange, girly behavior, but decided to ignore it.

Sherlock was silent for a long time as he tried to find the correct answer for her question. "I haven't decided yet."

"Oh." She said again.

"Well," Her voice began softly, "you better be careful, and watch out for crocodiles. You don't want to end up like Captain Hook."

His brows pulled together again. "What happened to Captain Hook?"

A smile spread across Molly's face, "Come in and I'll tell you."

After a bit of internal conflict, Captain Holmes climbed through the girl's window and decided to learn about this Captain Hook fellow. He figured he should know about other captains considering he was one himself.

Molly told him the whole story of Peter Pan and Captain Hook.

It turned out that a visit from Captain Sherlock Holmes was much better than one from Peter Pan

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_Well, that was the story! I like to think that Molly and Sherlock stayed up acting/playing out the adventures of Captain Hook and Peter Pan or something like that. I hope it was decent enough. Thank you for reading. I love you guys. xoxox_


	5. Surprises

_Note from author: The prompt: Purple Pen. This prompt was given to me by my lovely friend Elle (theheartofascientist). I think it is a little different than what I usually write, but I hope you like it._

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John Watson met Sherlock Holmes during one of the darker periods of his life after returning from the war, and somehow the stranger was able read him like a book.

It was amazing, John remembered.

He quickly learned that it was true what people said about walking with the consulting detective.

Everywhere they went he found a new, exciting battlefield.

He would never admit that he enjoyed the danger, of course.

That was not civilized.

It was true, though.

This particular battlefield, however, was not going as planned. Sherlock was nowhere to be found, and John now had a bomb strapped to his chest and hidden under a parka.

A device in his ear told him what to do.

He noted that the voice coming through the piece was not familiar, and probably being disguised.

"_Never fear, for the hero of our story will be here shortly._

_Oh! He's entering the building now!_

_We're going to have so much fun, John._

_Just remember to do as you're told, stick to the script. You'd be an awfully big mess for the boys down at Scotland Yard to clean up._"

Each sentence sent a chill down his spine.

The voice, Moriarty's voice, was all too excited to play this game. Why wouldn't he be? He had all of Sherlock's main playing pieces. He was winning.

John heard the doors swing open, signaling his friend's entrance.

Sherlock stalked around the pool and addressed the enemy directly. His little monologue was a dangerous tactic, the doctor thought, but proved to be effective when the voice called action.

John sucked in a deep breath and stepped out into the open.

Sherlock's head shot in his direction. For a moment, he seemed genuinely confused and frightened by what he saw.

"John." He gasped.

The voice in John's head immediately came to life again, _"Keep calm, and just repeat after me. Evening._"

He repeated it; he repeated everything else he was told to say too.

"_…What would you like me to make him say next?_"

"Stop it." Sherlock snapped.

"_…I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart._"

"Who are you?" Sherlock demanded impatiently.

Sherlock and John both heard another door creak open from across the pool. "You know, I would have agreed to meeting in a coffee shop, but I really do like the pool. It's such an interesting touch. Almost romantic." She, this voice was female, sighed as if imagining the scene she had described.

The men locked eyes, trying to see if the other was hearing the same strangely familiar voice.

Sherlock began turning in different directions until he spotted the source of the voice.

"Molly." He breathed.

John's head was spinning. Moriarty had taken Molly too.

When he turned around, expecting to find the meek pathologist with a bomb similar to his strapped to her body, he found that she was explosive-free.

Molly Hooper did not even look afraid, in fact, she looked smug.

She was wearing a blue, long sleeved shirt and a black skirt. John had never seen her outside of Bart's, and he thought she looked very nice, too nice to be a captive.

Molly's lips twisted into a small smile. "Surprised?" She chimed.

"About what?"

"About me, Sherlock." Molly answered. "About the fact that Jim Moriarty doesn't exist."

Sherlock did not respond this time. Instead, he went to his mind palace, searching for any room that contained evidence against Molly Hooper. By the look on his face, John could tell he was not finding any.

She saw it too.

"Was I really so successful? I suppose that was rather the point, but the fact that you had no idea!" She nearly broke into a fit of giggles.

Sherlock snapped out of his palace, and immediately aimed his gun at her.

He looked confused again when a red dot flickered across John's chest again.

"Don't be silly, someone else is holding the riffle." Molly rolled her eyes before smiling innocently. "He's a much better shot than I am, and I don't like getting my hands dirty in this kind of business. That's for my clients."

Her eyes seemed focused on her hands, but after a moment, she snapped back into reality.

She looked at Sherlock and John, who was completely shocked.

"It started out as a little hobby, but then people started coming to me, asking for my help. Now I'm considered a bit of a specialist. A lot like you, actually."

She gave Sherlock a small smile.

"A consulting criminal, if you will."

The woman looked so innocent and sweet. How could someone like her do all of those terrible things? She did not seem like a criminal; she was more like a proud student, showing off her brilliant report card.

John could not process it.

"You aren't happy." She stated although it almost resembled a question.

A dramatic frown fell across her face, making it clear that this genuinely upset her.

"You know, it is so difficult to please you. I try so hard."

Her petite frame shrunk back, her eyes dropping to the floor. "Am I invisible to you?"

Again, there was no response.

When Molly looked up her eyes had changed, the nervousness was replaced by cold, hard anger. Now she resembled a criminal.

"How about now?" She hissed as a red dot flashed onto John's forehead.

"Can you see me yet?" She shouted furiously, sending hundreds of red dots to John's body.

Sherlock still refused to react, and he kept his gun aimed at the woman standing before him.

John, on the other hand, was thoroughly terrified. Again, he never imagined that sweet, little Molly Hooper could do anything like this.

The not-so-innocent pathologist was growing impatient and was done waiting.

She slipped her hand behind her back to retrieve a gun that had been tucked into the back of her shirt. Molly lifted it, aiming for Sherlock's heart, without as much as a thought.

The consulting detective smirked cockily. "I thought you didn't like getting your hands dirty with this kind of business."

"I'd get dirty for you any day, Sherlock Holmes." She replied as an involuntary blush spread across her face.

"It doesn't matter." He scoffed, causing Molly to look confused.

"Why?" She inquired in a low voice.

"Because you will not shoot me."

Taking a few steps forward, her eyes glanced nervously to the gun in her hands.

"You're right." She confessed before tossing the gun into the pool. "Hurting you isn't the point."

Molly looked at John. He was paler than a ghost, despite his calm, soldier exterior. "Neither is hurting John." Her hand gave a little wave and the dots disappeared.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Then what is the point of all this?" He questioned while cautiously lowering his gun.

Her gaze returned to him and she smiled brightly. There was a new bounce in her step.

"You finally noticed." Molly beamed.

Something flashed in the detective's eyes. John knew that meant he finally understood what was happening.

"You did all of this for me." He reported.

"Excuse me, what?" John stammered, his brows pulling together in utter confusion.

Molly only continued to smile. "Yes. Doesn't it all make sense now?" She continued to approach Sherlock as she explained, "All of this is for you, for us, for you to notice me, for you to realize how much you need me."

John muttered something incoherent under his breath, finally caught up on the story.

"Despite what I said earlier, I can't take credit for Carl's death. He really did drown in that pool all on his own. I had nothing to do with it, but I saw how excited it made you. You were so dedicated to putting the entire puzzle together. So, I decided to create all these beautiful crimes, just hoping that one day you would stumble upon them, solve one, and become captivated by me and my gorgeous mind."

There was silence.

"I've succeeded." She breathed proudly.

"People have died, Molly." Sherlock growled back.

"But for such a noble cause!" She exclaimed.

"I am not a noble cause." He retorted bitterly.

Her head slowly swayed from side to side. "Oh, but you are."

Sherlock was suddenly very aware of how close Molly had gotten to him.

She slowly placed a hand on the side of his face, gently caressing his cheek. She began looking like herself again, the Molly they had known before today. Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red again, and her doe eyes were full of adoration for the man towering over her. She seemed nervous again, but continued to lean forward on her toes and press a kiss to his mouth.

John expected his friend to push her away, or maybe even explode.

People did not just go around kissing Sherlock Holmes.

However, the consulting detective did neither. Instead, he kissed her back.

Watson glanced around the pool awkwardly, as confused as ever by this whole situation.

What the hell is happening, he wondered.

Molly was the first to pull away, which was another surprise.

"I really am sorry." She murmured. "And this has been so much fun, but I can't stay for very long. Can't have you following me either, after all, the game has just begun." She placed another kiss to his lips before stepping back.

Her eyes glanced past him to a man that had entered the room amidst the confusion.

She gave him a nod, causing him to grab Sherlock from behind and force a cloth to his face.

"Wait, what is he doing?" John jumped forward to help, but another man grabbed him.

"Don't worry, John. Sweet dreams." Molly responded in comforting voice before everything went black for the two men.

Later John woke up on the ground beside his friend who was already awake.

Sherlock was sitting up, staring down at something in his hand.

"What is that?" The doctor asked groggily.

"Nothing."

He rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "Come on, let me see it."

Sherlock grumbled and finally tossed the small piece of paper into John's lap.

The note was written messily with a purple pen.

_Until next time, honey._

* * *

_That's all for now! I hope it was okay. Sorry it took so long to get done, I was at the beach. Thank you for reading. I love you. xoxox._


End file.
